Books

William J. Byrne
The Warrumbar

A quintessential Australian story, William J. Byrne’s debut novel, The Warrumbar, is a compelling coming-of-age drama set in a regional Australian town during the five months between the moon landing and Christmas Day 1969. In a satisfying denouement, part two treks through decades to 2019, the moon landing’s 50th anniversary. The turning of time shows the redemptive quality of doing what’s right and the paradoxical damage of conservatism and honour codes.

Thirteen-year-old Robbie lives with his family on Finnegans Hill in a tin shack with no electricity or running water. With the exception of violence inflicted by his father and abuse meted out during a year-long stint at St Peter’s Training School for Boys, he enjoys a robust and idyllic childhood: on the river, at the community pool, playing cricket and wagging school with cousins. There’s a Holden Kingswood station wagon, a makeshift Malvern Star bicycle, Weetbix trading cards, a dog best friend, a first kiss and a penitent Uncle camping on the Warrumbar riverbank. Sitting on a log across a small fire, the Uncle shares paperback novels, Arnott’s Nice biscuits and memories about fights in boxing tents, serving in the war as an Australian of non-European descent and community life on an Aboriginal mission.

Fatal accidents are fuelled by alcohol, a snake and the racist disdain of the mayor’s son. The fast-paced drama, enhanced by a powerful psychological undercurrent, makes for riveting reading. Through the rippling silence of secrets, Byrne creates a visceral haunting that creeps into tranquil landscapes and the happiest of times. His portrayal of human fragility is exquisite, as is his ability to write multifaceted characters.

Part two ventures into the sordid underbelly of Kings Cross. Past the Coca-Cola sign, wearing Levi’s and smoking a Winnie Blue, through a terrace sharehouse in Glebe listening to Janis Joplin and Jimi Hendrix LPs, an internal battle with depression and a sense of worthlessness are buoyed with artificial bravado. The consequence of keeping another person’s secret is the devastation of opportunities, skills, dreams and aspirations. The curse is a self-imposed prison.

The Warrumbar invites us to release the burden of conservatism to embrace difference and growth and to abandon entrenched honour codes that can poison friendships and plague generations. Capturing the liberating moment of a conscience freed of guilt, Byrne’s carefree and celebratory mood is heroic, until a final twist reveals a blistering weakness. The shock is gut-wrenching and sad. It leaves the question: is Byrne’s novel a roman à clef?

UWA Publishing, 300pp, $34.99

This article was first published in the print edition of The Saturday Paper on November 15, 2025 as "William J. Byrne, The Warrumbar".

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